The miseducation of Alejandro Yanez

An 18-year-old's romance with another teenager turned him into a convicted child molester and a fugitive from justice

by Ana Cabrera

Gisel Yanez putters about her family's kitchen at their home on Johnson Court in West Warwick's Natick section. She slices lettuce and plops the fine shreds into a ceramic bowl sitting on the countertop next to platters of tomato wedges and thin, flat rounds of corn bread. Gisel's waist-length, brown hair is carefully tied back, and she has pulled up the sleeves of her ivory ruffle-sleeved shirt to prevent stains. Her petite frame shows only a hint of her pregnancy.

"Alex really liked it when I made this dish," she says, stirring a pot on the stove. Suddenly, her smile changes into a tiny frown. "I wish I could cook it for him now."

Alex is her husband, Alejandro Yanez, and he is on the run, a fugitive from the law. In 1993, before he met Gisel, Alejandro had sex with a woman he thought was older than she was. At the time, he was just a few months past his 18th birthday, while Donna* (* names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals) was a month shy of 14, the legal cut-off age for first-degree child molestation in Rhode Island. (Statutory rape, on the other hand, involves victims ages 14 to 16.)

If Alejandro had been a little younger, or if Donna had been a little older, then, their brief affair may not have created so much trouble for the 18-year-old. Indeed, while no one will question the rights of a woman or man who has been raped, or the punishments given to a person who commits such a crime, there is nothing in Rhode Island's legal system that takes into consideration what happens between two young people only a few years apart and out on a typical date.

As a result, Superior Court Judge Joseph Rodgers, who presided over Alejandro's case in April 1996, had no choice but to mete out the punishment required under Rhode Island's child-molestation laws. And, actually, he was lenient in giving Alejandro 20 years in prison (with the stipulation that the defendant also had to register as a sex offender for a decade), as the law calls for 20 to life.

Still, although Alejandro would have served only two of those years in prison, with the rest on probation, state Supreme Court Judge Robert Flanders calls the sentence "extremely harsh" and a "draconian interpretation" of the law. The only dissenting vote in the Supreme Court's decision last year not to overturn Rodgers's guilty verdict, Flanders wonders how Alejandro, now 24, could've lived with what the judge calls "that sword of Damocles" hanging over his head.

"If, in that 18-year period, he had associated with the wrong people, even been at a party where a fight broke out and he was not involved, he would be in trouble," says Flanders. "Any slight misstep on his part would have done it [revoked his probation]."

For Alejandro, the second youngest son of seven children born to Jose Francisco and Maria Juana Yanez in Mexico, the whole thing was too much. After the guilty verdict, he left the United States never to return, and now lives with what he says are his regrets, his memories, and a constant fear.

"I am not a psychopath," Alejandro told the Phoenix, speaking by telephone from an undisclosed location. "During the trial, there was all that publicity, all these people calling me a rapist everywhere I went. It was a trauma. I had suicidal thoughts. But I thought of my family, my wife Gisel and my daughter, and I kept going."

According to court documents, it was Victor Yanez, one of Alejandro's brothers, who introduced him to Donna at a Portuguese Festival in 1992. Victor was dating Donna's aunt then and recognized the girl as the brothers strolled the fairgrounds. Alejandro says that Donna told him she was 16, and the pair saw each other at various times during the following months.

In July 1993, Donna was visiting her aunt and Alejandro dropped by to talk to Victor. Alejandro and Donna chatted again, and what happened a few days later began innocently enough. Alejandro was cruising the streets in his white Trans Am convertible, the top down to better enjoy the summer weather. When Donna spotted him and waved, Alejandro turned his car around and offered her a ride. Before dropping Donna off at a nearby park, he made sure that she took his phone number and promised to call him.

Donna did so that night, and days later the two met in the parking lot behind St. Joseph's Church in West Warwick. From there, they rode around in his car before heading to a friend's house, where, according to court documents, the pair had sex on a bedroom floor.

In court testimony, Donna's mother, Lorraine*, said she discovered what her daughter had been up to when she walked into the bathroom later that night. Donna was showering at the time, and Lorraine noticed her daughter's stained underwear on the floor.

At first, Donna refused to say anything. But her mother persisted, and the teenager eventually confessed to having had sex with someone named "Derek." Lorraine, who could not be reached for this story, contacted West Warwick police on July 25, 1993. And according to a later police report, the day before, Donna had had a pregnancy test that had been negative.

At first, Donna stuck with her story when questioned by police, but she finally revealed Alejandro's name after a friend in whom she'd confided contacted the authorities. A few days later, on August 1, Alejandro turned himself in.

"I was a little over 18 years old, and I didn't know the laws," he says. "I didn't speak English well enough to defend myself. I was afraid, and I didn't want to upset my parents. So I made the statement -- I told police that the girl told me she was older. She looked it to me."

Alejandro was charged with one count of first-degree child molestation, even though there may have been as many as three separate incidents in which the pair had had what both claimed was consensual sex. (The Attorney General's Office won't comment on the details of the case until Alejandro is found.)

Son Francisco Jr., the eldest of the Yanez brothers, says his family was aware of the girl's interest in Alejandro right from the beginning. "Like I was telling my sister yesterday, she would call him at two, three in the morning," says Son Francisco, whose nickname is Pancho. "The girl had a part in this. "

What's more, reports say, around August 24, while Donna was still younger than 14, another test showed that she was now pregnant. Before the trial, Donna identified Alejandro as the father, says his attorney, Mary June Ciresi. But later, while testifying before the Grand Jury, Donna denied this was so. Ciresi says she's not sure how old the real father is -- or why he has not been prosecuted if he is older than 18.

But in their refusal to overturn Alejandro's guilty verdict, the Supreme Court said none of that mattered. While Donna might have been "experienced for someone her age" and while her past could have been "somewhat unstable or troubled," they wrote, this did not constitute a defense for Alejandro's actions. The justices said that Donna was exactly the type of victim addressed by the state statutory-rape laws and that an offense committed against a person like her was "more harmful than one committed upon someone who has a stable environment."

It was in 1986 that Alejandro's family migrated to New England, and they lived what was essentially their dream. They bought their first house on Wakefield Street in the Natick section of West Warwick, and while Alejandro's father, Jose Francisco Sr., worked as a textile mechanic, Maria Juana played out the traditional role of wife and mother.

Theirs is the age-old story of first-generation immigrants maintaining their native customs while adopting the American way of life. Devout Roman Catholics, the family focused on bringing up the children, on the usual round of birthday parties, school functions and religious devotions. Pancho and his brothers were exceedingly polite, exhibiting some of the courtly customs ingrained in their culture, such as using formal titles and last names when addressing strangers. Their father, whose dark hair and mustache belie his 55 years, says he wanted his sons to be "caballeros," and from all appearances he succeeded.

But in 1993, when Alejandro was charged with first-degree child molestation, the family discovered just how complex the United States, particularly the legal system here, could be. Because of the state's rape shield laws, Alejandro's attorney, Mary June Ciresi, was not allowed to introduce anything about Donna's sexual past, including her pregnancy and her falsely naming Alejandro as the father, during the trial. And Ciresi says this kept her from effectively questioning Donna's credibility, particularly whether she'd lie about something like her age.

As a result, the attorney says, she had no way to prove Alejandro's claim that he thought Donna was 16, and this became the basis of Ciresi's appeal to the Supreme Court.

Steven Brown, director of the Rhode Island American Civil Liberties Union, says he, too, has problems with not "allow[ing] that kind of evidence" in a case like this. "The laws do need to set some lines on certain issues. I don't refute that there are certain cases where the lines are very gray, especially when you are dealing with a serious criminal charge such as this one," he says. "But because it is so serious, the defendant should be able to raise certain issues."

Brown also questions the idea of registering people like Alejandro as a sexual offender in accordance with Rhode Island's version of Megan's Law. Named after a seven-year-old from New Jersey who was raped and murdered by a twice-convicted sex offender who lived across the street from her, the law requires authorities to notify communities when sex offenders move into the area. And this includes teenagers who are caught having sex with a younger partner in the back seat of the family Buick.

"These statutes don't allow for nuances, especially in this particular type of situation which happens between young people who very well may be engaged in a consensual relationship," says Brown. "It's one thing for a 40-year-old man to have sex with a 16-year-old; it's another thing in this situation."

Last November, a Wisconsin judge removed Todd Padgett's name from the state's sex-offender registry under a Wisconsin law that gives judges the right to waive this requirement for teenagers convicted of having consensual sex with someone four years their junior. Padgett, who was convicted of third-degree sexual assault and served six months in a work-release program, was 18 at the time. His partner was 14.

In Rhode Island, state Senator Rhoda Perry (D-Providence) is concerned about the "older teenage male who matures later and often has romantic involvements with a younger teenager," and says the state may want to address this issue through legislation. "It is not that you want to go soft on rape," says Perry, but the Yanez case does bring up some interesting points.

Today, anyone convicted of a sexual offense in Rhode Island must register with authorities, and their name will remain in this registry for 10 years. Last year, state Representative Peter Palumbo (D-Cranston) introduced a bill to increase the amount of time to 20 years to life, depending on whether the crime was a repeat offense. But he later withdrew the bill only to reintroduce it this year with even stricter guidelines.

In a letter to the Supreme Court, Alejandro wrote that he "felt as if I were in a trap, unable to move," and maintained that even though he had "made a serious mistake, it was not molestation. In reality, it was my only mistake. I am and always have been a decent person."

But when his words did not convince the court to overturn his guilty verdict, Alejandro made a decision that would dramatically change his life and that of his family. He left the United States forever.

Today, Alejandro's situation is even worse than before. Because he failed to show up at a recent execution of sentencing hearing, he "faces additional punishment," says Jim Martin, spokesman for the Attorney General's Office. "There is a warrant out for his arrest now on fugitive-from-justice charges. And when he is caught, the court will decide just how much more time he will spend in jail."

When Alejandro left last year, he took the couple's toddler daughter with him. And those first weeks in hiding were hard, he says, as he couldn't find work and was "living off charity." Alejandro says he spent his time making preparations for when his wife would join him, trying to find baby furniture and a new life for his family.

As of this writing, Gisel is with Alejandro. "I was very depressed for a while, but now I am happier that Gisel is with me," he says. "But I am worried about her, about our daughter, about the baby that is coming. I am having trouble finding a job."

Alejandro's older brother Pancho now lives in the renovated basement apartment in which Alejandro and Gisel spent their first months of marriage. Pancho says he misses his brother and worries about him. "People say things to me about him, ask me if my brother is a rapist. What can I tell them?" He shrugs his shoulders and throws up his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. "He is my brother. I love him. We all love him."

Alejandro says he never thought his life would get so complicated. "If I could, I would tell anyone that age to orient themselves about the law, to talk to their parents and teachers before they do anything rash," he says. "What's done is done, but if I had bothered to find out the consequences of my actions back then, I would not be where I am now. I am a young man, but this whole thing sometimes makes me feel very old, and very, very tired."